


Before and After

by parentaladvisorybullshitcontent



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 03:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent/pseuds/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent
Summary: “Do you think it’s stupid that I’m – I’m like this?” He asks Phil, one evening.“What?” Phil says, alarmed. “Like what?” When Dan doesn’t say anything, he prompts, “Cute? Hot? Funny? Really smart?”“Stop reaching, Jesus, you’ll pull a muscle,” Dan says, but he’s smiling. His face falls pretty quickly when he realises he’s gonna have to put it into words. “I mean, like – about – about my sexuality.”Before 2011 Pride, Dan is terrified. Before 2019 Pride, he glues sequins onto a jacket.





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back! I'm not 100% happy with this, but it's been so unbelievably long since I wrote, never mind posted anything, that I'm just gonna throw it out into the universe and try not to care. So here it is, universe. Yeet
> 
> Just so you all know btw, there's discourse in the UK about whether the thing you hang laundry on to dry is called an airer or a maiden. In the north as far as I know we call that shit a maiden, and then I moved down south for a while a few years ago and everyone was like no it's an airer and i was like wtf is wrong with you people???? Anyway I couldn't resist throwing it in the fic as a cheap laugh purely for myself. Should've just deleted it bc it literally needed this explanation to even make sense,,,,,,ANYWAY

**2011**

“We could go to the pride parade,” Phil says, out of nowhere.  
  
They’re holed up in bed at the time. It's the only place in the flat with any order and sense right now – their escape from holdalls spilling clothes and boxes full of books and games. It's the place with clean sheets lovingly washed by Phil’s mum (probably), the place where they can pull the covers up high and speak in secret, undiscovered whispers.  
  
Or they could, if it wasn’t summer, and Dan wasn’t sweltering. Phil’s bedroom window is open – all of the windows in the apartment are open, come to that, not that it seems to be making any difference at all. Wisps of a summer breeze pass through the room every so often, but aside from that there's nothing but the baking heat.  
  
Dan read once that heat rises. Maybe that's why it's like a sauna in here right now. He pictures all of the dusty warmth of the city as a big cloud, an aura rising up off the surrounding buildings up to meet them, sweating uncomfortably together in Phil’s rickety bed.  
  
And yeah, Dan knows they'd be less warm if they weren't crammed into bed together right now, but he's done with sleeping alone. There are no parents around to interrupt them, no disgusting uni hall room painted in _lifetime stretch_ yellow, no flatmates laughing in the hallway outside. Just him and Phil and the far-distant sounds of traffic – the endless rumble of Manchester way below them.  
  
“Heat rises, y'know,” Dan says, softly.  
  
Phil’s on his phone, hair pushed up off his face. There’s a little blot of sunlight spilling through the gap in the curtains that’s making his collarbone shine bright white.  
  
“Mm?” Phil says. There’s a smear on his glasses and he smells like sweat and deodorant, and Dan loves him so much that it makes his chest feel tight and small, not big enough to contain his heart.   
  
“Heat rises,” Dan repeats, and yawns. “So, like, maybe this wasn't the best apartment we could've picked.”   
  
“Mm,” Phil says again, vaguely. He blinks at his phone, then looks up, lets it drop flat onto his bare chest with a funny little slapping noise. “Wait, do you hate it?”  
  
“What? _No_ , Jesus. I just – it's hot.”  
  
Phil seems to relax at that. Dan moves in close even though he’s dying, and kisses Phil’s damp shoulder. His skin’s cool, somehow. Dan rests his head there and breathes in the smell of him.  
  
“It'll be autumn before you know it,” Phil says, drumming his fingernails on the back of his phone.  
  
“Great, then we'll be freezing to death instead,” Dan says, deadpan, and laughs when Phil does, the sound making him feel lighter than air.   
  
“Freezing to death won't be so bad,” Phil says, quietly. “So long as you're there.”  
  
Dan swallows, full of so much fondness in that moment that he doesn't know what to do.  
  
“I'll be there.”  
  
“Good,” Phil says,, turning to kiss Dan’s forehead. Dan closes his eyes and feels himself getting too hot – even the little patch of sunlight on Phil’s chest is too hot, burning his hand when he rests it there for a moment. “So. Parade?”  
  
Dan groans.  
  
“We’d have to get dressed.”  
  
“It’s not ‘til next week.”  
  
“We still need to buy an airer-”  
  
“Maiden.”  
  
“Airer,” Dan repeats, and blows a raspberry just so he can hear Phil’s laugh, deep and rumbling from where he’s resting. “You can’t corrupt me with your weird northern slang.”  
  
“Whatever,” Phil says, and wiggles his fingers. It’d probably look weird or stupid to an outsider but Dan’s well used to it by now – he huffs out a laugh and holds Phil’s hand.  
  
“You’re lame.”  
  
“You like it, though.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
They’re quiet for a while, just lying there, music playing on Phil’s abandoned laptop. Dan needs to move soon. He needs a shower. Phil needs a shower. This is an excellent plan, and just as he’s moving, mouth about to form the words, Phil says, “So that’s a no on the parade, then.”  
  
“I- what?”  
  
“You don’t wanna go to pride.”  
  
“I – no, not really,” Dan says. “Do you?”  
  
Phil shrugs, jolting Dan in his resting place.  
  
"Not if you don't want to," He says. "I just thought, 'cause it's gonna be all over town anyway and we won't be able to avoid it, maybe if we, like, plan to go it'll be less of a...I dunno. A surprise, I guess.”  
  
Dan just makes a noise.  
  
“There’d be loads of people.”  
  
“Ew, true,” Phil says. Dan can practically hear him pulling a face. "Ugh. It's too hot for parades. In this weather, anyway." He sighs. “Wanna get a shower? I feel so gross.”  
  
“God, yeah,” Dan says, and somehow pulls off this awkward shuffly move so he can twist and kiss Phil on the mouth.  


-  
  
Phil doesn't mention going to pride again, but it sticks in Dan's head.  
  
They go and see a film at the Printworks, Phil resting his head on Dan's shoulder in the blue-tinted darkness of the screening room. Dan brainstorms video ideas and lies on the floor in the living room of their apartment, still surrounded by half unpacked boxes. They eat pizza on the balcony and drink stupid pink wine that was a housewarming gift from PJ. Phil kisses Dan in the kitchen, and the uncomfortable way the hard edge of the breakfast bar presses against the base of his spine seems unimportant when Phil’s hands are in his hair.  
  
The days pass, and pride gets nearer, and Dan realises that he can’t stop thinking about it.  
  
“Do you think it’s stupid that I’m – I’m like this?” He asks Phil, one evening.  
  
They’re sitting on the floor on the balcony on cushions, revelling in the cool air of another summer night, and Phil’s legs are resting on top of Dan’s.  
  
“What?” Phil says, alarmed. “Like what?” When Dan doesn’t say anything, he prompts, “Cute? Hot? Funny? Really smart?”  
  
“Stop reaching, Jesus, you’ll pull a muscle,” Dan says, but he’s smiling. His face falls pretty quickly when he realises he’s gonna have to put it into words. “I mean, like – about – about my sexuality.”  
  
It isn’t lost on him that he lowers his voice when he speaks, as though somehow high up above Manchester, Dan’s parents and a bunch of people who interact with him on YouTube have clubbed together to direct a high-strength long range mic directly at the apartment and can currently hear every word the two of them are saying.  
  
“No,” Phil says, before Dan can even get embarrassed about how dumb he is. “Dan, there’s nothing stupid about it.” He does that demonic finger wiggle of his, and Dan takes his hand and squeezes his eyes shut for a second, because even though being with Phil is everything he’s ever wanted, sometimes he misses Skype for the way he could just close his eyes and only listen to Phil’s voice and pretend he couldn’t see the pained expressions on his (beautiful) face whenever Dan opened up even the slightest bit about how he feels about being gay. Being bi. Being…whatever the hell he is.  
  
“It is stupid,” He says, and there’s a lump in his throat, Jesus Christ. “I know it is, I just.” And he can’t get into it, into everything he feels about being – being not straight, about the jeers and the times when his heart would feel weak in his chest and he wished, beyond hope, beyond reason, that he could just be like everyone else. “I know you wanted to go to Pride and I just – I know straight people go too, I just-”  
  
Phil moves then, shuffling out from under Dan’s legs so he can sit right up next to him, so keen to put an arm around Dan’s shoulders that he cracks his elbow audibly on the balcony post behind Dan’s head.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Phil’s saying, softly, and Dan’s not crying, he’s _not_ , but he turns his face into Phil’s neck anyway, holding onto his t-shirt. “I don’t even really want to go that much. It’s not, like, a burning _need_ , or anything. I just thought it'd be fun to see all the floats, and – and we could've got ice cream, that was it. I literally barely even remember asking you to go.” He pauses. “Have you been freaking out about this?”   
  
Dan doesn’t say anything. It’s just something else stupid about him, he guesses – the fact that he makes insurmountable mountains out of the little stumbling blocks that other people effortlessly vault over.  
  
“I just feel like if I went, I'd...people would look at me and somehow _know_ , you know? And -” Just the thought makes him feel hot and sick and ashamed, no matter how much he tries to push it down. The thought of being _seen_ , of being judged and laughed at, of people thinking they know him somehow, of open, mocking stares and sharp words. “I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t do it, I know I couldn’t.”  
  
 _I don’t know if I ever could_ , he thinks but doesn’t say.  
  
“You don’t have to,” Phil says, and he strokes the back of Dan’s head, gathers him into his arms, the only safe place in the whole world. “Hey, hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to. Don’t worry. I'm so sorry for even suggesting it-”  
  
“No, no, it's fine-”  
  
“I didn't think, I'm sorry,” Phil says, and doesn't let him go.  
  
They stay like that for a long time, Phil holding him close in the cool evening air.  
  
“You know I love you, don’t you?” Phil says, quietly, after a while.  
  
“Duh,” Dan says, with a confidence he doesn't really feel. When Phil huffs out a laugh he does too, Phil's fingers still moving soothingly through his hair.  
  
-  
  


**2019**

  
  


“Be honest,” Dan says. “This wasn’t my best idea, was it?”  
  
“Stay still a sec,” Phil says, and sneaks up behind him. Dan relaxes a little, looking down at the table where he’s leaning, the rumpled mess that’s nowhere near being his pride jacket spread out in front of him. He thinks Phil’s gonna do a normal boyfriend thing and kiss him on the cheek, but no – he sticks a sequin there instead.  
  
“Phil-!”  
  
Phil’s laughing, already backing off, the little tube of red sequins in his hand.  
  
“Did you lick that? Oh my God,” Dan picks the sequin off and scrubs at his cheek and doesn’t even bother to hide his grin. “You’re gross.”  
  
“What, you’d rather I glued it?”  
  
“Shut up,” Dan says. He holds out his hand, gesturing for Phil to hand over the red sequins. Phil shuffles over and slips his hand into Dan’s, and he laughs. “Fuck off, no, I mean – the sequins, Jesus.”  
  
“Alright, damn,” Phil says, and hands them over. “I get it, you don’t wanna hold hands with me. I’m last year’s news. I’m gross. I’m too _gay_ for you-”  
  
Dan laughs and pulls his hand until he’s closer, until he can kiss him.  
  
“How many of those sweets did you eat?”

“ A few,” Phil says, but his eyes are shifty.  
  
“ You’re such a toddler,” Dan says, squeezing his hand. “Like, you smell a grain of sugar and you’re bouncing off the ceiling.”  
  
“ We need energy,” Phil protests. “For the sequins.”  
  
As if on cue, they both look down at the woefully unfinished jacket.

“ The worst idea,” Dan says, gloomily.

-

“Are you gonna be like, _move, I’m gay_ ,” Phil asks, a few hours later. Dan feels like he’s forgotten a time when there wasn’t glue on his hands, and he’s decided that he absolutely loathes sequins of all kinds.  
  
“I mean, like, yeah,” Dan says, without looking up from where he’s pressing down a blue sequin, hoping against hope that it sticks. “Big pride mood.” He looks up and catches Phil looking at him. “You sure you don’t wanna come with me?”  
  
Phil shrugs.  
  
“I’m good.” He pauses. “D'you want me to go?”  
  
Dan knows what he really means, even if he doesn't say it. He means, _if you tell me right now that you want me to go, I will, even though I don’t really want to_.  
  
Dan really loves him for that. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Phil for a lot of things – not least sitting here for hours upon hours, gluing sequins onto a jacket – but the way he’ll just give up most things for Dan in a heartbeat, even after all this time, that’s the one thing that really makes him ache.  
  
“Nah,” Dan says, lightly. He smiles. “I’ll be ok. I mean, if we ever get this shit done.” He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. “I should’ve just ordered something online.”  
  
“We’ll get it done,” Phil says. There’s a tenderness in his voice that makes Dan look at him, a tenderness that probably has nothing to do with Dan’s imminent sequin-related breakdown. “You’re gonna be, like, the most fabulous emo they’ve ever seen.”  
  
“Shut the fuck _up_ ,” Dan says, and laughs.  
  
-

Dan doesn’t know if being out is living up to his expectations, because he doesn’t know if he had any.  
  
Back when he was younger and terrified and hating himself, all he ever really focused on was getting through each awful day. Coming out had become something that happened to other people, to cute couples in idyllic places in unrealistic tumblr posts, because surely that wasn’t what life was like for people like him? Surely happiness couldn’t be so easily found? How did people even do that, _how_ did people (gay people, queer people, people like _Dan_ ) just find someone else, someone else to fit with them like a puzzle piece, someone who understood and accepted them no matter what.  
  
When he met Phil, he thought, oh. Oh, that’s how.  
  
Phil made everything so much easier, somehow. He was like a breath of fresh air, rushing through the eaves of Dan’s life and disturbing the cobwebs, bringing in smells of rain and the countryside. Phil still makes everything easier now – just being with him makes Dan feel calm, and collected, and all of the things he thinks he can’t manage by himself sometimes.  
  
“Don’t be daft,” Phil’s said on multiple occasions, when Dan’s told him this. “That’s all you, Dan. Nothing to do with me at all.”  
  
Dan isn’t sure if he agrees.  
  
Even being out – Dan doesn’t think he’d have reached this point without Phil. No – no, he _knows_ he wouldn’t have.  
  
“I couldn’t do this without you, you know,” He blurts out. His eyes hurt and he hates sequins, did he mention he hates sequins? He also thinks he’s getting used to the smell of the glue, which is probably not great.  
  
“Yeah, no shit,” Phil says, without looking up from where he’s trying to unstick his fingers. His voice is a little hoarse. Dan hopes he isn’t getting sick. “I think I’m gonna dream in sequins, y'know. Like I’m gonna close my eyes and there’s gonna be this kaleidoscope of glitter behind my eyelids.” He looks up, smiling absently. “And – you didn’t mean the jacket.”  
  
“I mean, yeah,” Dan says. “But – but no.”  
  
Phil swallows. Dan watches his throat bob.  
  
“I couldn’t do this without you, either.”  
  
“Not the same thing, Phil.”  
  
“Absolutely the same thing,” Phil says. They look at each other across the table for a second. “Let’s finish this tomorrow.”  
  
“What?” Dan says. “Phil, _pride_ is tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah,” Phil says, and shrugs. “We can blast the thing with a hairdryer in the morning, get all the glue dried in one go.”  
  
“Right, yeah, and take out the entire building with the fumes.”  
  
Phil just gets up out of his seat and looks at Dan. Dan sits there stubbornly, glue in hand, for a whole minute before he drops it and gets up too.  
  
-  
  
“It’s definitely the same thing, by the way,” Phil says, later. He's drawing circles on Dan's bare hip with his fingers while Dan drifts, somewhere in the soft, comfortable limbo between sleeping and waking.  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“I couldn't do most things without you,” Phil says. Dan turns over to look at him, flailing a little because they're so entangled. “I mean, I could, but – it'd all be so much more difficult, you know?” He swallows. “Things are easier when I'm with you.”  
  
Dan doesn't know what to say. It's not like he hasn't heard Phil say things like that before, it's just that every time he does it's like the first time all over again, like being hit over the head with the blinding, unbelievable realisation that perhaps he does deserve love after all, perhaps he's found what people spend years looking for.  
  
Perhaps he's incredibly, unbelievably lucky.  
  
“You make things easier for me, too,” He says, softly, not trusting his voice not to break. “You always have.”  
  
-

Somehow, the next day, everything falls into place.  
  
“My hair's awful,” Dan says, pushing it around in the mirror. Phil's cleaning his teeth so he can't say anything, but his eyebrows waggle meaningfully.  
  
“It looks great,” He says, after spitting white foam into the sink.  
  
Dan carries on fiddling with it anyway, thrumming with nervous energy. Phil just lets him, wipes his face on a towel and touches Dan's elbow as he leaves the bathroom in this fluttering, comforting way of his, the way he does when he passes Dan sometimes, a little reminder that he's there.  
  
When Dan emerges, Phil's made him a herbal tea. He's drinking coffee, which Dan will never understand when he literally just cleaned his teeth, but he's years past even attempting to muddle through the logic of anything Phil does.  
  
He just loves him anyway.  
  
“Camomile and honey,” Phil explains, when Dan sniffs the mug, suspiciously. “You're jittery, it'll help.”  
  
“I just cleaned my teeth,” Dan protests, because he has normal tastebuds. He takes a sip all the same, sitting down for a moment on the couch.  
  
It's Phil who bustles around that morning like a mother hen. He encourages Dan to eat some cereal (“Cleaning your teeth doesn't get you out of it, you'll just have to clean them again,” He calls from the kitchen, where he's inevitably spilling milk on the side), makes idle chit chat about nothing much, probably because he can tell how stupidly nervous Dan is by the day ahead.  
  
Phil also, somehow, stuck the last few sequins onto the jacket and somehow managed to get it absolutely, completely dry.  
  
“I didn't want you to stress about it,” He says, with a shrug, tapping away at his phone for a moment, like it's nothing at all. “Come on, I wanna take photos.”  
  
“You're like Regina George's mum right now, you know that, right?” Dan says, laughing when Phil pulls a face. Dan can't help but slip an arm around his waist, pushing a flyaway piece of hair back with the other hand, just looking at Phil for a moment. “Hey. You know I love you, don't you?”  
  
“Duh,” Phil says, laughing a little, and kisses him.  
  
-  
  
Dan feels his phone buzz when he's walking in the parade, but he can't get it out for a little while. There's so much going on, so many people shouting his name, so many bright flags and smiling faces.  
  
When he finally manages to slip his phone out of his pocket, he has to tilt the screen so he can read it in the sunlight.  
  
_ I'm so proud of you _ , the text from Phil says.  
  
It's just five words on a screen but it's enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He breathes deep, and closes his eyes for a moment, smiling so widely his face aches.  
  
Then he slips his phone back into his pocket and keeps walking.


End file.
